Monday, 30 June 2008

5A westbound

Coming home, hot and dusty on the bus. After a long day pottering and tending and watering, I'm desperate for a cup of tea and to wash my feet but it's one of those carefree drivers who takes his time down the winding shade dappled route back into town. 

As soon as you take your ticket, your eyes are upon me. I look away at something, nothing, anything, even that uninteresting new fence outside in neat suburbia. You come to sit in the place beside me. Your freshly ironed shirt brushes my gritty arm and you are smiling. But I know all of this is not to do with me.

I am carrying a bunch of sweet peas.